There was a moment during a bodywork session this week that I haven't been able to stop thinking about.

I was receiving osteopathic manipulation while my *friend and *colleague was gently working with the fascia around my pelvis. As she began, she quietly said, "Your pelvis feels incredibly tight. It almost doesn't want to move."

She knows my trauma history, so she gently added, "That makes sense. Those parts of you probably haven't felt safe."

The moment she said those words, something unexpected happened.

My inner child appeared.

Not as a memory.

Not as a thought.

As an experience.

I often guide clients through a meditation where they imagine themselves—whether as the age they are now or as a younger version of themselves—walking around their pelvic bowl. There is no right way to experience it. Sometimes they follow the rhythm of their breath. Sometimes they notice nothing at all. The invitation is to become curious about what is there.

Without trying, that same meditation unfolded inside of me.

One little girl wandered slowly around my pelvic bowl as if everything was perfectly fine. She carried an energy that said, "Nothing to see here. Everything is okay." It felt almost rehearsed—as though she desperately hoped I would believe her.

At the very same time, another little girl appeared near the area being worked on. She was running frantically in sharp zigzags, full of panic. Her whole body seemed to say, "None of this is safe!"

Both were present.

One pretending.

One terrified.

Neither was wrong.

As my practitioner continued working, I could feel my body communicating in ways that words alone never could.

My right side felt rigid. Almost frozen.

It seemed to whisper, "This is what we do. We stay straight. We don't move. This is how we survive."

My left side felt completely different. It easily yielded to her touch, almost collapsing into whatever movement was asked of it, "This is what we do."

Its message sounded like, "We let other people move us. We become whatever they need us to be."

As someone whose trauma has often shown up through both freeze and fawn responses, I was filled with insight.

My body wasn't just holding tension.

It was telling me it's story - the story of how it had learned to survive.

What made this experience so healing wasn't only that my fascia began to soften.

It was also - that I wasn't alone while it happened.

I had a witness.

I had *Bridget.

Someone was listening to my body with their hands and heart while I was listening to it from the inside (somatically).

We could put what she noticed physically, side by side with what I was sensing emotionally and internally. Sometimes they matched. Sometimes they didn't. Both were valuable.

It reminded me that healing doesn't happen because someone "fixes" us.

Sometimes healing happens because our body finally has someone willing to listen.

And they often help us listen to ourselves with new, more attuned ears, hearts, and energy.

The next day, my pelvis felt different.

The little parts of me came back.

This time, they didn't seem quite as afraid.

Instead, I sensed gentle whispers:

"Maybe this is okay."

"I think I could live like this."

Not certainty.

Not complete healing.

Just a little more possibility.

And sometimes, that's exactly what healing looks like.

It isn't forcing ourselves to let go.

It's creating enough safety that our body begins to believe something new might be possible.

This experience reminded me why I so deeply believe in combining body-based therapies with trauma-informed somatic work. Our bodies often know things our minds haven't yet discovered. When we learn to listen with compassion instead of trying to fix or force, the body often begins to show us the next step.

This week, I invite you to become curious.

If your body could speak today, what might it be trying to tell you?

If different parts of you gave different answers...

Could you let them all belong?

You don't have to understand every sensation.

You don't have to know exactly what your body is trying to say.

You don't have to make meaning out of every ache, every emotion, or every moment of tension.

The invitation is to notice and be open to listening...

To pause.

To breathe.

To become curious.

And to say out loud what comes up. To yourself, a trusted friend, or me (via email or a free chat)

Because every time we turn toward our body with compassion instead of judgment, we are teaching our nervous system something new:

"I'm here now."

"I'm listening."

"You don't have to carry this alone anymore."

That, by itself, is a healing practice.

May you find one small moment this week to listen—not because you need to fix yourself, but because your body is worthy of being heard.

Remember, ❤️

You Matter. Your Healing Matters. You Are Worth It!

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P.S. *Bridget Stiegler is the *friend and *colleague who does the osteopathic manipulation bodywork that I refer to. If you live in or near Flagstaff, I invite you to give her a try. She is AMAZING!!!

You can find her at True North IOI (Integrative Osteopathic Institute)

928-266-0036

914 North San Francisco Street. Suite M

​https://www.truenorthioi.com​

And then reach out to me for somatic work afterwards.